


A Thousand Years of History

by Anonymous



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M, Quiet Moment, Sex on a Throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hephaestion catches Alexander in a quiet moment and shields him for too short a time from the coldness of the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Years of History

The metal is cold and stern, unyielding beneath his sprawled limbs as he surveyed the fruits of war, the unending spoils lain before him, the echoed chamber resplendent with murmured homage, echoing still though all had left, had bowed before him and departed, leaving him alone with the knowledge and consciousness that the tangible fruits of war had been deposited at his feet, and yet still he lacked. The metal is chill where his skin touches, warms only slowly, reluctantly as though it does not recognise its new master, does not thrill to his touch, and in its futile resistance he reads a darker tale of his future- this land will not bow, will not break to his will, today’s battle is not the war, the gains he has made are liable to be lost, and alone he feels the crawl of lethargy, the weight of a thousand years of history press down upon his neck.

 

Then strong hands grasp his arm, and he is awakened from solemn thoughts by the private smile of Hephaestion and with relief he stands. It is not often that they do this anymore, separated by the gulf of rank and pride and opinion but he dares to hope now will be the exception. Hephaestion does not lead the way though, he throws himself upon the throne and stretches out a hand to Alexander, draws him down until there is only flesh against flesh, and slowly he warms. It is with old practiced ease that he straddles familiar thighs, knee against metal- stark reminder of where they do this, how they celebrate a win that has left its mark on them- body and soul. He allows it, allows the press of cock against cock, the delicate slide of their mouths, shielded if only for moments from the coldness of solitude.

 

He takes them in hand, practiced still, draws the slickness of their combined need against himself, heedless of ruined cloth, careless of their precarious position, and rests his forehead against Hephaestion’s, breathes in his breath, the casual exchange of love, watches Hephaestion’s eyes darken and close until at last, ragged and helpless he spends over Alexander’s fingers, throws his head back, dark hair mirrored against gold. Alexander follows, helpless to resist, short sharp gasps against Hephaestion’s neck, buffered from the inevitable enticement of rule for a few seconds longer.


End file.
